


Utterly Delightful

by flippyspoon



Series: Sometimes When it Snows [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is a bit gloomy.  Jimmy cheers him up by mocking others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Utterly Delightful

Sometimes as Thomas fell asleep, in a bed that was much too small, the voices of the day would echo in his head. Mr. Carson’s bark and Mrs. Patmore’s shrill commands to Ivy were hardly conducive to a peaceful dropping off. He would pull on his ear lobes, as if ringing out the noise, and the echoes faded into the hush of his room. He always thought of Jimmy as sleep came on; his eyes that often twinkled with mischief or the promise of some mystery, and his low husky tones muttering a sardonic comment. It was like a sort of prayer that led him into dreams. On a good night, he would dream of Jimmy. That didn’t happen often. He usually dreamed of work. It wouldn’t be so bad, except that he tended to remember his dreams, and he didn’t think it was fair to be robbed of that one bit of respite from the daily grind.

One morning in October, Thomas woke up particularly gloomy. He had dreamed of decanting wine and nothing else. The echoes were in his mind even as he drifted out of the dream, just as they had been when he’d fallen asleep. He felt like he had already worked a full day as, with a growl, he swung his legs around to get out of bed. In truth, things had not been so awful lately. For him anyhow. The Crawleys were still in the throws of sorrow following Mr. Matthew’s death. Sometimes the heaviness of their mourning gave him a slightly sick feeling, as if it were contagious. But O’Brien was gone now and, best of all, Jimmy was a friend. At least to some degree. They were hardly best mates. But a couple of days after the fair they had shared an interesting conversation about the war and that had led to other too brief friendly chats, even if they weren’t all moments of such openness. It was all much better than that wretchedly awkward tension Thomas had felt between them for a year. Just a week ago Jimmy had asked him about his family out of nowhere. Thomas had gotten the sense that he was melancholy and attempted to cheer him. Amazingly, it worked. Thomas counted it as a victory even as he aimed to quell his hopes. They did him no good.

He focused instead on his work. He considered himself Mr. Carson’s attack dog and he kept an eye out for any piece of useful information. Lately, there was very little. All talk was centered on the fate of Lady Mary. His strategy was to make Mr. Carson forget that he had ever been without an under butler. The trouble was that even Thomas didn’t think his position wholly necessary. He would have to prove it was necessary. He would have to prove his worth.

 _If I play my cards, right_ , Thomas thought. _He’ll wonder how he ever managed without me by his side._

He thought of this as he washed and dressed. Mr. Carson had spoken of hiring an electrician to take a look at the fixtures as there were too many lights flickering lately and the bulbs had already been changed. Thomas was planning to make inquiries. He was sure they had used one from York a couple of years ago. He would do it before Mr. Carson could even remember he needed it done. And flowers. Thomas had discovered in the last year, that an easy way of pleasing Mr. Carson was to see that all the flowers in the house were not only constantly fresh or in bloom, but appropriate to the state of the manor or the time of year. Mr. Carson liked the variety. It was another sort of service that he had not known he wanted until Thomas had provided it. Now the Crawleys were in mourning, so it was chrysanthemums and white lilies. He would send the hallboys to the greenhouses. The bouquets were just on the verge of wilting.

_Decanting wine…decanting wine…_

Thomas massaged the back of his neck and took a breath before buttoning his livery. On the way downstairs his gloom turned to aggravation. So much to do and worry about.

At breakfast, Jimmy nodded a hello and Thomas racked his brain for the name of the electrician in York. Perhaps he could find the card in Mr. Carson’s office.

“Sleep well?” Thomas said to Jimmy, and felt mildly stupid. Jimmy only nodded again in response and it made Thomas irritated all over again. He muttered to himself.

“What are you on about?” Anna said. But she was smiling.

“I’ve got to change the chrysanthemums,” Thomas grumbled. “The greenhouses are likely picked through. Might have to go to Mr. Molesley. Senior, I mean. He’ll want to talk about his lawns, the old fuddyduddy.”

He heard Jimmy snort at that. Mr. Bates cast him a disapproving glare and Thomas glared back. They had kept their distance from each other. He got the feeling sometimes that Bates was still waiting for some amount of gratitude or an apology. Well, he could keep waiting then. They both had their jobs. There was peace in the downstairs. Wasn’t that enough? Mr. Carson liked to remind him weekly that there was little difference in ranking between a head valet and an under butler.

“A superfluous position, I sometimes think.” Thomas had heard Mr. Carson say this once to Mrs. Hughes about under butlers. It did nothing to calm Thomas’s nerves, that much was certain.

“The house flowers look alright to me,” Jimmy said. “You’re changing them already?”

“They’re about to wilt. Better to do it before they start.”

“You do too much you don’t have to,” Jimmy said confidently. “There’s enough to begin with. Why add more? You don’t see me volunteering to do extra work.”

“We hardly see you do work at all,” Bates said.

Jimmy sneered at him. “I do what I’m told. I earn my keep, Mr. Bates, same as you.”

The exchange amused Thomas and he suppressed a smile. If given the opportunity, he would need to take Jimmy aside and give him a little talking to on the art of appearing to do your job better than anyone else could possibly do it. He had caught on quickly to Jimmy’s lack of work ethic. He was fine at serving, but he acted as if he were too good for the less glamorous sorts of chores. If he wasn’t careful, Jimmy would find himself demoted.

But he didn’t get a chance to talk to Jimmy all morning, and soon enough he was too distracted by his own duties to think of educating a footman. Mr. Carson was insisting that even though they were out of oil soap and furniture polish, they shouldn’t be, and thus a cleaning supply inventory took Thomas hours. It was his least favorite task too. To Thomas, counting things, especially boxes of things, seemed tedious enough to melt the brain. Sometimes you had to take half the boxes and bottles off the shelf because there were different boxes and bottles behind them, and then put it all back just so. By the time he was done, the boredom alone had made him exhausted. Stuff the flowers, he needed tea and a cigarette. Maybe a bit of cake or tart if Mrs. Patmore was so obliging. Maybe a bit of cake even if Mrs. Patmore was not obliging.

In the kitchen, Jimmy and Alfred were waiting around to serve luncheon as Daisy and Ivy went about their work Alfred was going on and on about the proper way to spice fish and Jimmy groaned out load.

“How can a person talk so long about bloody spices?” Jimmy said. “Just put some salt on the fish and be done with it.”

“Are you really that stupid?” Alfred cracked, glaring down at him.

“I don’t know. Are you really that ugly?”

Alfred made a face of mock sympathy and said to Ivy, “He’s sad because he’s little.”

“I’m not that short,” Jimmy protested. “You’re Frankenstein’s monster!”

“Who?”

“Now lads, that’s not very nice,” Thomas intoned. They looked up at him warily and he blinked for a moment before pouring himself a cup of tea at the counter. “But do carry on. I want to see who wins.”

“Mr. Barrow…” Mrs. Patmore appeared from the stores, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ya shouldn’t egg em’ on like that.”

Jimmy smirked. “Anyway, I think I clearly won.” He sidled up next to Thomas, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He doesn’t even know who Frankenstein is. You’ve read _Frankenstein_ , haven’t you? Or you’ve heard of it anyway…?”

Thomas nodded and said, “If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear.” He took a sip of tea.

Alfred was already in a conversation with Daisy, but Jimmy said loudly, “There you are, ya dim bulb! Mr. Barrow’s heard of _Frankenstein_.”

“Bully for him,” Alfred said, glancing up. Immediately he reddened and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Thomas said nothing and screwed his lips up into an expression of pure disdain so that Alfred ducked his head and turned away. “Dim bulb,” Thomas muttered.

Jimmy chortled, but his laugh turned into a groan. “Ugh. What a dull day.”

“Ho, I’m glad it’s so dull for you,” Thomas said. “I’ve been counting cleaning supplies for three hours.”

“Ech! Fate worse than death,” Jimmy said. “Hmm. Actually no. Polishing silver is a fate worse than death.”

“You’re a touch the dramatic sort, aren’t you?” Thomas said. Jimmy rolled his eyes and Thomas went on, “Mr. Carson thinks somebody’s taken to pinching soda crystals. Who’d steal soda crystals? Stock’s the same as usual. We’ve just used more of it. Maybe grieving makes people spill sauce on their frocks more often. Bloody useless waste of time.”

He didn’t even see Mr. Bates come in, but he certainly heard him say, “Grumbling again? I should think you’d be grateful for every day you have this job.”

Anger boiled in Thomas’s stomach, but he only regarded Bates cooly. “I suppose I should be more like you then? Endlessly content to lick the bottom of a shoe with a smile on my face if anyone requests it of me?”

Bates was wearing that smug expression that made Thomas want to punch him. “You never learn, do you?” He shook his head and made his way across the kitchen to Mrs. Patmore.

“Neither does he apparently,” Thomas muttered.

“Wish he’d go jump off a bridge,” Jimmy spat.

Thomas looked at Jimmy in surprise and amusement.

“Well, he’s so self-righteous, isn’t he?” Jimmy said under his breath. They watched Bates talk to Mrs. Patmore and exit the kitchen. Jimmy spoke in a grave voice, quietly impersonating Mr. Bates: “No, that’s quite alright. Stomp on my face if ya like and I’ll let you because I’m soooo noble and perfect.” He shook his head. “They ought not let him into churches. He’d have all the Christians running to the ninth circle of hell for relief. Bloody sanctimonious dog-faced clot. Oh…” Jimmy suddenly looked at Thomas with wide eyes. “You won’t tell anyone I said that, will you?”

Thomas bit back a smile, but laughter bubbled up from his heart into his throat and he let out a loud guffaw. It was so loud that Mrs. Patmore wandered over, stirring a bowl full of batter and gawked at him.

“Why, Mr. Barrow’s laughin’,” she said, and feigned shock. “I hope it’s not food poisoning.”

Thomas composed himself and said, “Why? Did you put somethin’ in my eggs?”

“Time will tell,” she said mysteriously, and stirred her way over to the oven.

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy said, snapping his fingers. “I almost forgot. I found an old chess set while we were cleanin’ out the attics and they let me keep it. Do you know how to play?”

“Well enough,” Thomas said.

“Ah! Good. Fancy a game tonight?’

Thomas swallowed his happiness and just nodded. Then luncheon was ready and Jimmy left to serve. Thomas nicked a tart and took it with his tea to the servants’ hall. He felt light as air. Then he remembered; there had been some sense of sadness and dread. What had that been about? Ah, the inventory, the dream about decanting wine, and insecurities about his job. And stupid bloody Bates. But they weren’t such terrible problems after all. Inventories were a pain, but they didn’t usually come around so often. The dreams couldn’t be helped and they were better than nightmares. He worried about his job sometimes, but Carson did seem more than satisfied with his performance as of late and he’d held it now for over a year. As for Bates… Well, _he_ still technically ranked higher than Bates, did he not? Why had he been in such a foul mood?

Now there was a game of chess to look forward to that evening.

He took a bite of tart. Raspberry. Delightful. Utterly delightful.


End file.
